Chapter Eight: Terror Twins For The Toxic Twins
Jennifer casually brushed
away a strand of honey-colored hair as she played around with the white
telephone cord, listening to the woman chatter away on the other end of
the line. She sighed, before saying in an obviously forced polite voice,
"Well, you see, the reason I wasn't in the "Panama" video was because I'm
the manager. Usually, when a band releases a music video, said music video
will feature only the band members. It had nothing to do with whether or
not I'd gained too much weight to look cute enough on camera--which I hadn't!"
A pause, as the caller presumably said something else, before Jennifer
impatiently blew away a piece of hair that had fallen into her sky-blue
eyes and added, "Well, you see, the busty "fangirls" trying to give the
band members lap dances were actually strippers that our producer Roxy
Oyama hired for eye candy, so it really wouldn't have been appropriate
for me to have had my breasts popping out of a tiny little hot pink tube
top while I tried to hump the lead singer." Another pause, before Jennifer
cut into the caller's tirade to point out, "Yes, I realize that it would
have gotten my face on camera, but that is just a very inappropriate way
for me to--" The caller cut her off in order to chastise her some more
for not having weaseled her way into the "Panama" music video, while Jennifer
shrugged and nodded, mumbling a half-hearted, "Uh huh," every now and then.
Finally, the caller switched to another subject, and Jennifer's eyebrows
nearly flew off her forehead when she got the news. A look of dismay crept
into her eyes, as she protested, "My sisters? Here? Tomorrow? But Mum--"
While Jennifer rattled on, Pietro's eyebrows raised in amusement at something
the distraught manager had said that he'd apparently found funny, and the
silver-haired rhythm guitarist leaned over to share his little joke with
Lance. The older, dark-haired half of the Toxic Twins promptly shook his
head in amusement, his upper lip twisting up in a smug little sneer as
he took a sip of beer while the very all-American Jennifer finished her
conversation with her "Mum". As soon as the brunette manager had hung up,
having been suckered into letting her two sisters drop by for a visit later
on that week, Lance and Pietro gave each other knowing smirks, attracting
said manager's attentions. Jennifer turned around, crossing her arms over
her chest as she turned to look first at Lance, then at Pietro.
"All right, what is it?"
she demanded crossly. "What's so funny now?"
Lance and Pietro exchanged amused little sneers, before Pietro snickered
in a nasal, snobbish, and very badly-imitated British accent, "Aye, look
'ere matey, it seems as if darling Jennifer's a good ole English lass."
Jennifer frowned, as Pietro and Lance exchanged high fives, before muttering
tight-lipped, "My mother insists that I call her "Mum"; she says it makes
her feel classier and more sophisticated than all her old high school white
trailer trash best friends from Jebediah County, Arkansas."
"Whatever you say, luv,"
Lance snickered, in an equally hideous British accent. Jennifer frowned
again, tucking a strand of chestnut-brown hair behind her ear as she began,
"Speaking of no-good white trailer trash Southerners...my, uh, two sisters
have decided to drop by for an impromptu visit tomorrow."
"Hey, cool, genuine, real-life
hillbillies!" Morgan squealed excitedly, while Rikki snorted rudely, "Hn.
You don't look like a toothless redneck to me; who'd have thought you
came from a trailer park?"
"My sisters are not
hillbillies, they speak perfectly fine English, with no hick accents or
whatever," Jennifer spoke up hastily, then added while darting Rikki a
dirty look, "And the Falls family is not a clan of inter-breeding rednecks,
or hillbillies, or hicks, or trailer trash, or whatever; my Mum just happens
to have been raised in Jebediah County, Arkansas, that's all!"
"Hey, that's okay, I believe
you," Jericho spoke up pleasantly. "I mean, my dad was raised in the South
himself, so I tend to get that kind of stereotype flak from some people
when they hear where my parents come from." Jennifer turned to him gratefully.
"Really? That's so nice
to know that someone else understands where you're coming from," she acknowledged
thankfully. Jericho nodded enthusiastically, to the point where he appeared
to be headbanging.
"Yup," he said wisely. "Say,
is Southern California anywhere near Jebediah County? I mean, since the
stereotypes that I got was dumb blonde surfer dude and not toothless
redneck, I figured we might come from different parts of Arkansas!"
"D'oah!"
Meanwhile, cue over to a
nice, neat ranch-style house in the suburbs outside of New York City, where
two teenage girls where busy sitting in front of a huge mirror, rigorously
applying makeup. The taller one, Jennifer's fraternal twin sister and a
busty brunette with cat-like green eyes and a flawless complexion, was
chattering, "Ugh, I really hope there are some cute guys in the city. All
the boys here are just so...blah!" Nineteen-year-old Jamie Falls critically
examined her dyed sun-gold hair (which she had bleached to quote, look
hotter), before leaning forward to the mirror to put in her brown contact
lenses (again, to "look hotter") and reassuring her sister, "Don't worry,
Cali, I'm sure they're good-looking. Remember what Jenny told us: a six-foot-five
blonde, a moody model front man, and two sweetheart guitarists. How can
you go wrong with a bunch of like that?" Cali arched her eyebrows.
"Huh, sexy rock stars, really?"
A bird-that-ate-the-canary grin suddenly appeared on her features. "In
that case, I better pack my extra low-cut red minidress...but only because
it's my favorite first-date dress, that's all, and not because I want to
skank around and catch the attentions of hot guys, or anything," she added
quickly. Jamie had paused, hot pink lipstick aimed halfway at her mouth,
as her sister's words sank you.
"You've got a point; I'd
better pack my extra low-rise strategically ripped pink leather pants,"
she said thoughtfully. "But only because they're my favorite pair of pants,
and not because I want to, um...what's that word that I can't pronounce
again? Oh, yeah, and not because I want to, um, seduct some cute guy or
anything!"
"Jamie, that's not seduct,"
Cali clucked, shaking her head. "The word you want is to reduce a cute
guy!" Jamie shrugged.
"Yeah, whatever," she mumbled.
"But like you said, only because my extra low-rise strategically ripped
pink leather pants are, like, my favorite pair of pants, and not because
I want to, erm, show off my assets. That would be like, so totally...what's
that word again, that I can't pronounce? Oh, yeah, um, that would be, like,
so totally biodegradable to women!"
"Jamie, it's not biodegradable,"
Cali chided smartly. "It's dehydrating!" Jamie swatted her hands carelessly
back and forth, as she reached into her jam-packed closet to retrieve her
special T-shirt, the one with the signatures of all the cute guys she'd
ever stalked and had never washed since entering the eighth grade.
"Oh, whatever, you smarty-pants,"
she scoffed.
Jennifer switched off her cell phone, looking worried. Since Roxy was busy out peddling Lance and Pietro's magazine centerfold--um, I mean, magazine cover--and Jennifer herself would be busy the next day going to meetings all day with record label execs, she would need to leave someone responsible and logical to take care of her sisters when they arrived on the three o' clock train the next day. But who...? She frowned. Cali and Jamie Falls had made it clear over the cell phone that they wanted two, like, totally hot guys (like, duh!), meaning Mini-Me Morgan was out of the question, which was probably a relief in itself. That left either Bachelor Number One, Rikki Stixx with his Aqua Net hairspray and asshole attitude, Bachelor Number Two, Jericho Locklea as the charming, handsome blonde with less brain cells than probably even Jamie (which was a scary thought in itself!), and, of course, Bachelors Numbers Three and Four, Lance Alvers and Pietro Maximoff, a.k.a. the sweetheart guitarists when sober, a.k.a. the obnoxious Toxic Twins when not so, um, sober. Jennifer sighed, tiredly running a hand through her chestnut-brown hair. Between Rikki, who'd probably get annoyed with her sisters five minutes into the date and dump them in some dark alley to go bar-hopping and groupie-smooching alone, and Jericho, who would probably get lost five minutes into the "date" and end up taking her sisters on a hitchhiking "adventure" to some place like Guadalajara, it appeared as if the Toxic Twins were the safest alternatives. What could be the worst thing that would happen? So they'd get drunk and act like a couple of silly, obnoxious little assclowns. That was still far better than a. Rikki ditching her sisters at the skid row district or b. Jericho getting hopelessly lost and somehow wind up taking her sisters to Mexico. Besides, her two bimbo sisters would probably think the whole Toxic Twin routine was, "like, totally hot", and anyway, Lance and Pietro still needed some sort of punishment for their full-frontal magazine cover. A sly, evil smile graced Jennifer's face, as she turned to the living room and called out in a sing-song voice, "Oh, Lance, Pietro...you'll never guess what I've got planned for you two!"
Pietro gingerly peeled off
his waist some fat, unwashed, dirty-blonde hillbilly who'd latched herself
onto him, before turning to Lance and whining, "How did we get suckered
into picking up the Falls sisters at the train station, anyway? The only
people arriving are toothless rednecks who seem to think that I look just
like their brother, and thus ought to get hitched off right away and breed
our youngins in Dumpwater, Wisconsin!" Lance, meanwhile, busy fighting
off a herd of blonde, braided, bucktoothed triplets in matching pink dresses
and tattered old straw hats, grunted, "Look, how should I know how the
hell we ever got suckered into taking out a pair of giggly airheads, except
that Roxy's bossy bitchy attitude seems to have rubbed off on Geri-Ann!"
Pietro scowled, finally rid of the toothless fat dirty-blonde, before correcting,
"Well then, if that's the case, then Jericho's clueless airhead attitude
seems to have rubbed off on you, cause her name is Jennifer."
"Whatever!" Lance snapped
grumpily, still trying desperately to avoid being humped and pinched by
the triple threat blondes from Dumpwater, Wisconsin.
At that moment, the three
o' clock train arrived, whistling and screeching to a hasty stop. The doors
were slammed wide open, and passengers began shoving and fighting each
other to be the first ones to get out, in typical New York City fashion.
Lance and Pietro, still busy trying to shake off the cargo of rednecks
from the two-fifteen Wisconsin train, didn't notice the pair of non-hillbillies
until the two girls were practically standing right in front of them. The
shorter one, a skinny little bottled blonde, peered into Pietro's face
and stared wide-eyed, until her brown-tinted contacts nearly fell out,
before shrieking happily, "So, like, are you one of those two cute sweetheart
guitarists that Jennifer said would be taking us out on dates?!" Pietro
gave a startled little squawk, and promptly fell backwards, landing right
into the arms of the waiting fat dirty-blonde who was waiting to haul him
off to raise their youngins in Dumpwater, Wisconsin. Upon quickly untangling
himself from the toothless redneck, he mumbled, "Uh...you two must be Jennifer's
sisters." By then, Lance had also finally disentangled himself from the
triple threat from Dumpwater, as the slender blonde chirped happily, "That's
right! My name's Jamaica Victoria Priscilla La Toya Bobbie-Jean Rochelle
Marianna Susanna Falls--but you can call me Jamie." Just then, the other
half of the Falls sisters, a green-eyed brunette with her ample breasts
nearly popping right out of the low-cut red minidress she was wearing,
proceeded to introduce herself.
"And my name is California
Summer Tallahassee Sunshine Daydream Dawn-Marie Catalina Chae-An Falls--but
feel free to call me Cali," the busty brunette added. And then, in unison,
the two sisters held out their arms to be linked, and chirped as one, "Shall
we go?" Lance tee heed nervously, before excusing himself and Pietro, "Eh
heh...one moment, please?" And he quickly pulled the startled silver-haired
rhythm guitarist well out of earshot of the two Falls sisters.
"All right," Lance hissed,
"what do we do?" Pietro, meanwhile, was studying the two girls critically
through narrowed ice-blue eyes.
"Well," he finally spoke,
"I'll go with the California girl, and you can take the chick named after
Elvis's wife."
"No, not that--Hey! Wait
a minute, why do I have to take the blonde bimbo?" Lance protested.
"If anybody should take the skinny little bottled blonde, it's you. After
all, in case you haven't noticed, the lesser of the two evils--California
What'sHerFace--is a good couple of inches taller than you!"
"Fine, fine, whatever!"
Pietro snapped grouchily. "Let's just get this dating crap over with so
that we can go join Rikki and Jericho at the Girls! Girls! Girls! bar and
start ordering margaritas with Roxy's platinum card!"
"All right, then." Lance
cleared his throat and straightened out the black dress jacket Jennifer
had forced him to wear, before preparing to go off to battle--um, that
is, take out Jennifer's so very lovely sisters.
Jamie and Cali, who had both
crowded in front of a broken mirror and were adjusting their tops while
Lance and Pietro were trying to think up the best strategy for speedy dating,
quickly whirled around as one to face their dates for the evening.
"So...shall we go?" Cali
giggled, pouting her full red lips seductively. Lance linked arms with
his "date", and glared over at Pietro to mimic his action.
"Sure, why not, your sister
gave us two hundred bucks to spend on this date, so we might as well hurry
up and max out her credit card before nightfall," Lance muttered. Pietro,
busy batting away Jamie's hands as she giggled and pulled on his precious
silver locks and wondered out loud what kind of bleach he used, harrumphed,
"All right, so...where do you lovely ladies want to go first?" Cali peered
her cat-like green eyes upwards to bat her eyelashes sultrily, before giving
a silvery laugh as she suggested, "Oh, well, since we are in the big city
and all...how about taking us to the finest restaurant in town?" Lance
lit up, thankful that they were wandering into familiar territory.
"In that case, follow us!"
He shot a mischievous wink to Pietro, who caught on and added enthusiastically,
"Yeah, we know a place where you can get the best food and entertainment,
all in one sitting!"
"Uh..." Cali paused to stare
wide-eyed at all the Hooters girls bouncing around, carrying trays of cheeseburgers
and chocolate shakes. "This wasn't exactly what we had in mind when we
said finest restaurant in town."
"Yeah," Jamie chirped from
where she was, staring intently into a mirror as she applied a fresh coat
of peach lipstick onto her old hot pink layer. "We were thinking of something
more like, you know, C.C.'s Fish Tacos & Margaritas." Cali nodded wisely.
"Mmm hmm," she agreed, as
Pietro shrugged and scratched his head.
"Well gee, if you wanted
tacos and margaritas, you should have just said so," he mumbled, at the
same time that Lance spoke up breezily, "Oh, if you want fish, I'm sure
you can get it here. I mean, is there anything that Hooters doesn't serve?"
"Well," Cali muttered, emerald
green eyes flashing as she glared at one of the busty Hooters girls "entertaining"
a patron, "even if seafood isn't on their menu, it's pretty obvious that
a lap dance is!" Uh oh, Lance thought frantically, she's gonna
pick a catfight with that hooter! Better do something--fast! Turning
around so fast he nearly slipped on the tiled floor, Lance took a deep
breath and prepared to unleash his secret weapon.
"Aw, c'mon love," he pouted,
flashing her his most winning boyish smile. "Won't you please put up with
this for an hour or so? We'll make it up to you later on in the date...promise."
He could already see she was softening.
"All right, fine," Cali
finally conceded reluctantly. "We'll eat at Hooters--if you promise to
take us out to a really sophisticated and glamorous spot after this."
"That's the spirit, Carrie,"
Lance said encouragingly. Cali flashed him a venomous glare.
"My name's Cali," she hissed.
She then frowned. "Well, actually, its California Summer Tallahassee Sunshine
Daydream Jamaica--oh, no wait, that's Jamie's name! Great, now I've got
start all over again! Ahem. My name is California Summer Tallahassee Sunshine
Daydream...um, oh, yeah! Dawn-Marie, and then there's a Catalina, and a
Chae An..." Lance was already long gone as Cali stood there rattling off
her many names, having skipped off to flirt with a sultry Hooters girl
with wavy dark chestnut hair and an exotic Spanish señorita appeal.
Cali finally seemed to have
taken notice that her cute sweetheart rock guitarist beau had long since
lost interest in her, and huffed, stalking over to Lance and his exotic
señorita and hauling him off by the ear.
"Owieowieowie!" Lance whined,
as Cali dragged him toward the narrow booth that Pietro and Jamie were
already squeezed into. As Lance grudgingly sat down across from the two
beside Cali, Pietro leaned over the table confidentially and whispered,
"Is she friendly?" wagging his head to the Spanish señorita in the
exotic red dress. Lance shot him a mischievous wink.
"Very," he confided with
a laugh. Jamie turned to face Pietro, a hurt expression on her face.
"Hey! I heard that!" she
pouted, before suddenly winding up and smacking him across the mouth.
"Ouchy!" Pietro's hand flew
up to his sore red slap mark, before he turned to Jamie, eyes flashing,
and whined, "What did you do that for?" Jamie shrugged in reply.
"I don't know," she admitted
dumbly. "I just always wanted to do that, and you're the first guy who's
gotten close enough for me to try it. Although honestly, I don't really
know why all the hot guys seem to think I'm this scary chick or whatever!
I mean, I've got really hot blonde hair and brown eyes! I'm a hottie! It
says so on my shirt here, see? So honestly, I don't know what is it about
me, maybe my perfume's, like, a guy repellent or whatever, and if that's
the case, then for a cologne called Black Rose, it's got a very misleading
title, and I would totally want my money back...!"
"Uh oh...traces of Morgan
here," Pietro muttered in dismay. Lance, meanwhile, was staring wide-eyed
at the rambling Jamie, going on about her hot-ness, before turning apprehensively
to his own date.
"Um...so, Kelly...that's
a really pretty name you've got there," he began tentatively. Cali turned
to him, arms crossed over her ample breasts and frown etched into her face.
"Huh, my name's Cali, not
Kelly!" she huffed. "Kelly's such a dumb blonde name, like that chick from
Married...With
Children. Hey, did you know I can sing the whole theme song to Married...With
Children? It goes like this, 'kay: Ahem. Ahem. Ahem! All right! Love
and marriage, love and marriage/Go together like a horse and carriage/This,
I tell you brother/You can't have one without the, other/Love and marriage,
love and marriage..."
"Eh heh..." Lance not-so-discreetly
inched away from the singing Cali. Plastering a great big phony smile on
his face, he choked out squeakily, "Scuse us for a sec, okay?" And before
either Cali, who had now moved on to the Brady Bunch theme, and
Jamie, who was scrunching up her nose as she tried to remember that word
she couldn't pronounce, could reply, he had already pulled the dumbfounded
Pietro out of their booth and into the men's room.
"What are we going to do?!"
Pietro hissed frantically as soon as they were inside. Lance tiredly ran
a hand through his longish dark hair, heaving a pathetic sigh.
"I don't know," he mumbled
dully. "Here, let's just, switch dates or whatever. I'm used to hyper schoolgirls
discussing their looks...Kitty does that sometimes, especially right after
she's gotten a new pair of shoes, which is about once every other week!"
"Fine then, so you take
the Tahiti or Jamaica or Bahamas or whatever island chick, and I'll go
with the California girl," Pietro mumbled.
"It's not California, it's
Wisconsin!" Lance corrected him. Pietro glared.
"No, no, you must be thinking
of the triplets from Dumpwater back at the train station," he retorted.
Lance scowled.
"How can you remember all
her names, anyway?" he grumbled. Pietro shrugged, before admitting, "I
have the David Lee Roth CD, okay?"
"Whatever," Lance huffed
as he headed for the door. "Let's just get this over with."
When the two returned to
their table, they found Cali frowning in concentration as she adjusted
the top half of her extra low-cut red minidress, while Jamie fumbled around
with a tattered old pink babydoll tee covered with horrible scrawlings
in the worst chicken-scratch handwriting either of them had ever seen.
Lance discreetly slid in beside Jamie, who didn't seem to notice that her
date for the afternoon had suddenly been switched around, while Pietro
sat down next to Cali, who, unfortunately, wasn't quite dumb enough and
actually did notice the not-so-discreet little swap. As Jamie happily
snuggled up to her new beau and started pestering him to sign her hot guys
autograph T-shirt, Cali narrowed her vivid green eyes suspiciously, before
gritting out, "Hey--what's going on here?" Pietro was left to handle her
wrath, seeing how Lance was preoccupied with signing Jamie's unwashed autograph
shirt with one hand and discreetly covering his nose with the other. He
took a deep breath, before batting his eyes innocently and pouting, "What
do you mean? Is anything wrong? Do you need me to get you some more iced
tea?" Cali snorted impatiently.
"No," she hissed. "I mean
how come Lancie-poo's now snuggling up with my slutty bottled blonde sister?"
Jamie snapped up from where she was gushing over Lance's scrawled signature.
"Hey," she huffed. "You're
talking about me, aren't ya?" Cali rolled her eyes.
"No, I meant Jennifer,"
she snapped sarcastically. Jamie brightened up.
"Oh, okay then," she chirped
brightly, and went back to squealing over how, like, totally hot Lance
was like the good little giggly airhead that she was. Cali sneered condescendingly,
before focusing her attention again on Pietro and beginning to say, "So,
what's with the switch, anyway? In case you haven't noticed, I'm not dumb
enough to not realize that the two of you don't really look all that alike,
and...Hey! Where did he go?" Cali's head whipped back and forth as she
frantically scanned the Hooters for her missing beau...before promptly
finding Pietro leaning against the glass bar counter, flirting with Lance's
very friendly Spanish señorita. Cali bristled, as she stalked over
to Pietro and dragged him back to their booth by the ear.
"Owowowowow!" the highly
unfortunate silver-haired youth whined, as his brunette date seethed, "Oh,
please, I can't believe how shallow you are to have fallen for that trashy
slut with the one hundred percent silicone 36DDs popping out of her stupid
little red dress." Just then, Jamie suddenly thought of something, as she
popped into their conversation to whine, "Hey...I just realized something!
You couldn't have been talking about Jenny with that blonde slut remark,
because she isn't a blonde!" Cali and Pietro just ignored her, as Pietro
surprisingly agreed with Cali's comments about the Spanish señorita.
"I know," he snorted. "She
really needs to get some reconstructive surgery for that botched up boob
job of hers. Those babies look more even faker than Britney Spears'." Cali
blinked in surprise.
"You mean that?" she cooed.
Pietro, meanwhile, was nodding.
"And that hair job, ew!"
he shuddered, like the male equivalent of some snotty high school cheerleader
type. "I mean, can those red roots be any more obvious? Honestly,
I don't know what Lance saw in her. And that whole fake orange tan
is so ridiculously, pathetically obvious, I'd almost feel sorry for her
if she wasn't such a total loser." Cali, meanwhile, was staring dreamy-eyed
at Pietro. I'm in love! her inner self gushed. Finally, I've
met a guy just as snobby and spoiled as I am! Pietro, meanwhile, was
glancing nervously at the dreamy-eyed Cali, ogling him with a funny expression
on her face.
"Um...Cali?" he muttered
nervously, to which he got no response. "Why...why are you staring at me
like that?" He then suddenly remembered some chick flick that Jennifer
had suckered him into watching with her, and realized to his horror that
he recognized the look on Cali's face as one that equaled that of the giggly
airhead that the movie called its heroine when she fell in love with some
fruity Enrique Iglesias lookalike type, complete with the bigass mole and
everything. Oh, no! his mind screamed in horror. This isn't just
some silly little crush, she's actually in love with me--although, who
could blame her? I mean, I'm so perfect, and gorgeous, and charming, and
magnetic, and smart, and witty, and I just adore my dimples when I smile...a
satisfied little smirk drifted onto Pietro's face as he rattled off his
perfect qualities, while Cali continued to gawk at him with that stupid
lovesick expression on her face and Jamie and Lance carried on their fascinating
discussion about how blondes looked, like, hotter than brunettes--just
take a look at Pamela Anderson versus Yasmine Bleeth, for example. Pietro,
after having finally listed off his perfect qualities, right down to his
perfect cute nose, was suddenly snapped back into reality as he caught
Cali gawking at him like some pathetic lovesick little schoolgirl. Uh
oh, now she's gonna want for us to hitch off and go raise our youngins
in Dumpwater, Wisconsin, as well! This is just great, I'll never be rid
of her! he groaned inwardly. A lightbulb went off in his head, as he
suddenly thought of something. Unless...
Lance and Pietro wearily
mounted the steps leading up to their apartment, thankful to have finally
gotten rid of the two Falls sisters, who had been hauled safely onto the
eight o' clock train heading back to the suburbs.
"I can't believe you got
the two girls mad at us so easily that they dumped us in one hour flat,"
Lance ooh-ed admiringly. "How did you do it? I mean, I know that Toad's
a natural woman repellent, but one never would have guessed that you
had that talent as well." Pietro frowned, scrunching up his perfect nose.
"Eh, I don't know whether
to take that as a compliment or an insult," he muttered. Lance laughed
breezily as he opened the door to Apartment No. 666.
"Consider that as a little
bit of both," he said lightly, as he stepped inside, and was promptly greeted
by a furious Jennifer, still rubbing her sore ear from where Cali and Jamie
had shrieked and sobbed their laments over the date via cell phone.
"All right," she lectured
sternly, hands on her hips, "which one of you two told my sisters that
you were gay?!"
*Wondering what Roxy's been up to throughought this whole chapter? (besides being in talks with Playgirl over the magazine cover, I mean! x_x) I'll reveal that in the next chapter. No hints till then, 'cept that you better be prepared for some good old fashioned wacky plots to take over the world.
